The Letter
The old radio sang a song Lily knew she recognised, but couldn’t place where from – had her dad played it before? Sun painted golden streaks through the old, patterned curtains hanging above her bed, a jumble of teddies collected through childhood. Lily had always loved this time of day – late afternoon – when the whole village seemed caught in a doze, tired from a day’s work. August’s heat stuck to the village like flies to jam, the buildings seemed to be squished behind a soft-focus glass, all edges hazed. Midday was always too hot for Lily, but late afternoon was just perfect – she could play outside with Petunia, risking no sunburn. Earlier that Summer, she’d risked a trip to the beach in July’s relentless sunshine and had come back red and raw, unable to lie on her back for the next week. Her shoulders still remained a slightly different colour, and due to Petunia’s consistent mockery, the rest of her Summer holiday had been spent in her father’s old gingham shirts.
Just lately, I’ve been thinking, how much I miss my lady…
Lily thought of her father as the radio trundled on, humming tunes recently released. She grinned as she heard Petunia beginning to practise the piano downstairs, her exam was coming up soon. Despite her love of music, Lily had never quite mastered an instrument (much to her mother’s disappointment), although had played the kazoo masterfully at her tenth birthday. Her rendition of “She Loves You” had had all the Evans in tears, especially her father – memories of laughter made Lily grin as she rolled over.
And when it rains, the rain falls down
Washing out the cattle town…
What is that song? The old radio seemed to be enjoying itself as it whirred out more music, battling the sounds of Petunia’s practise downstairs – Lily always thought she should play something more upbeat, instead of some old rubbish their mother enjoyed.
And she dreams of crystal streams
Of days gone by when we would lean
Laughing, fit to burst, upon each other…
“Lily! Come down angel!” It was her father summoning her downstairs – although wasn’t it too early for dinner? She would probably have to listen to her sister’s latest masterpiece and grin out several shallow compliments before her mother felt satisfied and ready to move onto Petunia’s violin practise. Absolutely insufferable. Lily new it wasn’t her sister’s fault, and it perhaps was her own free spirit which had condemned Petunia to a life of their mother’s pressure, as Lily listened only to two people in her life: herself, and on occasion, her father. People called her untameable – just like her red hair, famous in their little seaside village. As a baby, her hair had been manageable but as she grew it had become a flowing crimson mane; even Severus teased her on occasion – nicknaming her Salamander. Lily didn’t really know what a salamander was, or why Severus knew so much about them, but he’d always been so unusual that she just let it slide.
Oh, I miss you Amoreena, like a king bee misses honey…
Amoreena! That was it! An Elton John classic Lily knew her father would’ve played before, and maybe even had the record of.
“Lily! Down here now please!” This time her mum’s voice, with a soft Welsh accent hinting to their roots. She dragged herself off the bed and thumped in protest down the stairs. Their house was an old fisherman’s inn, converted to suit a more modern purpose; it was little, and arguably a little shabby, but Lily loved it. Her dad had worked on the docks so the Evans had never been able to afford much more, but it was enough (despite her mum’s questionable taste in décor, stuck in the fifties Lily couldn’t help but think – her mum hadn’t moved much with the sixties, unlike so many others in Britain.)
Petunia was sat at the piano, in the centre of their living room, glossy black hair pulled back into a delicate array of plaits against the back of her head. Her face always looked so closed in and narrow, a bit like Severus, Lily always thought. They shared a bedroom, and except for their times spent by the beach together, the two sisters were almost uncomfortably dissimilar. Petunia epitomised everything Lily should’ve been: a perfect, clean girl with sensible aspirations to have children and a family once she had grown up. Pfft. Not for Lily. Despite their differences, there was one thing that was so recognisable linking them together – their eyes. Bright blue, almost electric, inherited from their dad. Lily had always hoped secretly that if she ever had a child, they would have her beautiful blue eyes – a selfish thought, maybe.
“Lily, angel, something arrived for you through the post!”
“What?” Lily never got post – her only friend, Severus, lived a short stroll away and despite his collection of what he called “Muggle” (what on earth did that mean) stamps, he’d never had the occasion to use them.
“Lily! It’s pardon!” Her mum chastised her, and Lily couldn’t help noticing the fleeting look of smugness that crossed Petunia’s face. Ugh.
Despite their slight clash, Lily’s mum handed her an old-fashioned envelope, made from old coarse paper, sealed with a crimson wax stamp. It had her exact address on the front, but even more unnervingly was the return address printed on the back in small italics.
“Hogwarts School? A school? What?” Lily questioned. She hadn’t heard of this place, Hogwarts? What a stupid name – this was almost definitely a cruel prank from Petunia. Although, not quite her style, Lily supposed.
She peeled off the wax seal, emblazoned with a traditional logo featuring a lion, a snake, some sort of bird, and… a badger? Lily couldn’t help but feel this was an incredibly unusual collection of animals as she delved into the envelope’s contents. Inside, a letter, in the most intelligent of handwriting which curled into roses and vines at each capital letter, seemingly unfolded itself into Lily’s hands. Almost choking with anticipation, she began to read aloud, each word stung with excitement. Hogwarts? What did this mean? And why, when Lily first read the name, had she felt an almost foreign sense of sheer excitement unfurl in her stomach?
Dear Lily,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Students shall be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival, the dates of which shall be duly advised.
Please ensure that the utmost attention be made to the list of requirements attached herewith.
We very much look forward to receiving you as part of the new generation of Hogwarts’ heritage.
Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titilandus
Professor McGonagall
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore. Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed of Wizards
No… It couldn’t be. A witch? How?
Words swirled in Lily’s head as she tried desperately to make sense of the situation. She felt her father’s had prise the letter softly out of her grip as air rushed in and out of her lungs; she could feel her heart pound, thudding rhythms of confusion across her chest.
Lily knew what a witch was, sure. Last Halloween, she’d even dressed up as one, painting cruel green warts across her nose and forcing the family cat, Paul (don’t ask – her dad chose the name), to balance on their old broom during a photoshoot. But Lily didn’t feel green… or evil, or angry, or ugly, or any of the things a witch should be. She didn’t feel like brewing potions in a pot and cursing those who wronged her, she had no intention of flying across cities on a broomstick, her cackle being heard for miles. She’d read about witches in her monotonous history lessons, hadn’t they been burnt at the stake? Old women tortured for the crime of being, well, old women? She knew she certainly had no intention of being burnt to a crisp, so this letter, this piece of old tattered paper from “Professor McGonagall” made no sense. A prank, surely?
“Oh Lily, angel! We’re so proud! A witch!”
Her dad’s voice brought her back into the present, sat in their cramped living room on the sofas that should’ve, quite frankly, stayed in the fifties.
“I mean, it can’t be. Witches aren’t real dad,” Lily smiled, almost sympathetic of his gullibility.
“No, Lily, this letter is serious, I know it,” her father retorted, the magic of possibility glinting in his eyes.
“Lily, your father is right.” Her mother’s voice. Clear as day, and what had always been, well, up to now, the voice of reason.
“Your friend Severus, his ma Eileen, she spoke to me about it. Severus, well, they’re anticipating a letter from this school as well. We’re what they call ‘muggles’ Lily, and her mum well… she felt you were something special. Your free spirit, Eileen always suspected but well, I always doubted…” her mother trailed off.
“Oh Lily! A witch in the family! My beautiful baby!” Her dad gushed, scooping her into a hug.
So, this was real? And Lily was magical? She was special? What did that even mean?
She had no idea, and yet somewhere deep down, she knew her parents weren’t lying to her. And Severus had always been unusual, something drew her to him, a connection not dissimilar to friendship… a bit like magic.
“I can’t believe it… I’m a witch!” She squealed, clapping her hands with glee. Lily had always been desperate to have something special, something unique, something her own, Petunia had always been the Golden Child. Was being a witch that? Was this Lily?
As if she’d heard her thoughts, Petunia made a disgruntled noise somewhat between a huff and a groan.
“Well, we don’t really know what this means do we? There’s a reason everyone thinks witches are ugly! There's a reason we dress up as them for Halloween!”
Lily couldn’t help but glare at her sister.
“Well, darling, I have to be honest this is clearly something of a celebration!”
Lily was thankful for her mother’s defence, as in a short sentence the ten-year-old Petunia had summarised all of Lily’ worries.
A witch. The word raced in Lily’s mind as her mother and father continued to talk, planning things Lily was too confused to listen to.
Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the second piece of paper to reveal the equipment list she would require for her new school.
Uniform
First year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for daywear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One Winter cloak (black, with silver fastening)
Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.
Course Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spell (Grade One) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
One wand
One cauldron (pewter, standard size two)
One set glass or crystal phials
One telescope
One set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARENOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
Lily couldn’t believe it. What was all this stuff? Fantastic beasts? For Petunia’s ninth birthday they’d visited London Zoo and Lily couldn’t help but marvel at the tiger’s terrific stripes of black and orange – a shade not unlike her own hair – but surely it wasn’t that? And broomsticks? To fly? So many questioned flooded her brain and crammed into her mind. Who had ever owned a toad? Was she meant to? It’s not like she could take Paul – he was missing a leg and roughly two thirds of his teeth through a combination of fights and old age. So what should she bring? Who could she ask?
There was so much to consider, and Lily was only eleven. Only eleven, and yet in the space of a few short seconds, her world had flipped.
As her parents continued to chatter excitedly, there was only one thing Lily knew for certain: she had to talk to Severus.